“No, thanks, best be off. My mother will worry if I’m not home for dinner.” He watched Gabi shunt the bag with her foot. “Do you need a hand with that?”
“No, it’s good—you better get going. Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in Berlin.”
Gabi waved goodbye and dragged her bag up the stairs and through the front door, leaving it at the foot of the staircase. The aroma of fresh bread wafted down the hallway, enticing Gabi to the kitchen where Helmut, Chef, Frau Hermann and Tante Helga sat discussing details for that night’s dinner.
“Who would have thought you needed a committee to prepare dinner,” Gabi said, greeting each committee member with a kiss and a hug.
“You’re early. You look like you could do with a good feed. Here, just out of the oven.” Chef wielded a basket of bread rolls through the air, the aroma of steamy fresh yeast filling every cavity of Gabi’s nose.
She took a bite and purred. “Oh, Chef, how I miss your cooking.”
Helmut placed the basket before Gabi, urging her to take another. “How long is your stay?”
She took another roll and spoke between bites. “Only two days and then we’re driving to Berlin. We fly back to Krasnowardeisk on Friday.” She lifted her arm, catching an offensive whiff. “It’s time I wash. I smell like a Russian.”
The general arrived at the estate later than expected. He looked tired and worried and Gabi sensed that his mind was elsewhere. It had been over eight months since they had last seen each other—the longest time apart that she could remember—and it came as a shock to see his hair so grey and his skin so wrinkled.
She led the conversation, hoping to distract her father from his troubled thoughts. She spoke of jovial things, of the fighter group’s mascots and their amusing bad habits.
“Why do you have dogs in the Luftwaffe? Surely they can’t fly.”
Tante Helga’s befuddled questions and bizarre recollections had them rolling their eyes and tittering all evening. Gabi did her best to clarify misunderstandings but in the end, it didn’t matter; Tante Helga seemed quite content to interpret the world as it suited her.
After a few more glasses of wine, the worry in the general’s brow lifted and life appeared as it once had been: simple and care-free—if only for a brief time. They ate, drank and chattered into the early hours of the morning—light, frivolous conversation devoid of all matters political, military or logical where Tante Helga was concerned.
Gabi slept in late the following morning, her fatigued body grateful for a few extra hours’ slumber in the warmth of her feather bed. Refreshed, she enjoyed a sizeable lunch followed by an afternoon stroll to her special place.
She lay on a grass patch listening to the wispy rustling of the leaves, the canopy of her majestic oak swaying hypnotically, clouds drifting in gatherings of fluffy white rabbits, elephants and lambs. Her gaze followed the floating menagerie as it transformed, challenging her imagination as rabbits became pigs and pigs turned into swans. A white feathery motorcycle broke the animal theme, and Gabi’s thoughts turned to memories of Heinz. Her eyes welled as she recalled his visit to her home and the old oak—the fun, the laughter… he wasn’t much of a horseman but, oh, he could ride. She wondered if Heinz was looking down, still watching over her through Kurt and Hans. What a blessing they had been. She was fond of them both, but her feelings went beyond friendship with Hans. She wondered if he felt the same.
A dark cloud cast a menacing shadow before rupturing. Gabi scrambled to shield herself from the downpour, the tree’s massive girth and canopy offering her shelter as the rain swept across the fields like a curtain of silk, rising and falling in waves that roared, drowning out all other sounds and overwhelming the senses with its intensity. Then, as unexpectedly as it had started, the rain ceased, leaving only the fresh scent of the cleansed earth behind.
Kurt winked at the pretty local girl. Although no older than sixteen or seventeen, she was well developed and seemed open to a foreign exchange. She smiled back, blinking shyly. Kurt rode up to her, revving his bike in a testosterone-fuelled display of manliness. She giggled and Kurt grinned his relief; brutality with women never sat well with him and there clearly was no need to force himself upon her on this occasion.
“Can you speak German?”
She looked at him quizzically.
Kurt tried again. “Ya ne pomimaya Nemetsky?”
She shook her head. “Nyeht.” Her hair was tied back under a scarf, but it hung long and loose down her back.
Kurt licked his lips. His Russian was limited but he was keen to establish some rapport. He motioned to the seat of his bike, offering her a lift.
She shook her head again.
He removed some chocolate from his pocket and offered it to her.
“Nyeht,” she said but her refusal belied her obvious attraction to the handsome German officer, and she smiled alluringly back at Kurt.
He opened the packet and broke off a piece, holding it out to her. She hesitated before cautiously accepting, peering about to see if anyone was watching. Kurt broke off another piece and popped it into his mouth.
“Mmmmmmm, it’s good,” he teased.
She giggled again and took a nibble from her shard.
Kurt pointed to his chest. “Menja zovut Kurt,” he announced. “And you?”
“Menja zovut Lydia,” she said, her voice soft and sweet.
“Where do you live?” Kurt mouthed slowly.
She stared back blankly and shook her head.
“Home… dohm?” he asked.
She nodded in understanding, pointing to a farm across a field.
Kurt nodded. “Tonight… segodnya vecherom?”
She shook her head.
“Tomorrow… zavtra?” Kurt asked, beaming his cheekiest grin and her face blushed a soft pink.
She pointed to an abandoned storage shed at the far end of a nearby field and fluttered her eyes.
“Nine—devyat—o’clock,” he said, holding up nine fingers.
She nodded eagerly and Kurt grinned—the language of love was universal.
Gabi sat at her dresser and stared glumly into the mirror, the mark on her forehead looking ugly as ever, her hair limp and unkempt. She had never paid much attention to herself and was now acutely aware of her neglect.
Frau Hermann knocked on the door. “Gabi, are you there?”
Why had she knocked? Frau Hermann never knocks, she just barges in. And it struck Gabi, like a revelation, that she was no longer the little girl of the house, and she lamented, for the briefest moment, the passing of her childhood.
“Please, come in, Frau Hermann.”
The one-time nanny, now full-time house-keeper, entered the room with a pile of clean bed linen. “Why the long face?” she asked.
Gabi looked down at the rug, an intricate pattern worn to expose the cotton lining beneath. “I look so plain, and I don’t know how to make myself look more like—” Eva she thought but mumbled, “a woman.”
Frau Hermann smiled with caring eyes. “That’s because you’re a natural beauty. Why fiddle with perfection?”
Gabi forced a feeble smile, her true emotions exposed by a trembling bottom lip.
“Oh dear, I’ll have none of that,” Frau Hermann said, but her temperament softened immediately at the sight of Gabi’s welling eyes. “I have a friend who runs a salon in Meissen. I’ll have her drop by early tomorrow before you leave for Berlin.”